


Mixed (up) messages

by Dane_Wilshire



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-19
Updated: 2014-07-19
Packaged: 2018-02-09 12:11:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1982523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dane_Wilshire/pseuds/Dane_Wilshire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>First Lines Challenge #8: You were always the one.<br/>Two letters that were never meant to be sent are delivered without their authors' knowledge.<br/>Ron advanced on Harry and nearly shouted, “Is this true?!”<br/>At the same time Harry asked Ron, “Do you mean this?!”<br/>Lives will change forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mixed (up) messages

_‘You were always the one,’_ the young wizard wrote on the parchment facing him before pausing and nibbling the end of his quill. _‘You were my first true friend, my trusted confidante and, sometimes, my conscience. Without you, though, I don’t know how I would have made it. All those years together, laughing and sharing secrets, playing pranks and studying until dawn, talking Quidditch and idle gossip. All those years by each others side and I lost count of how many times I wanted to tell you how much I love you. I just never found the way to get that courage…except to write these letters you’ll never read._

_‘I never meant to fall in love with you, but I did. I can’t tell you now, because losing this friendship would hurt me more deeply than this longing does. As much as I want to tell you and touch you and hold you and **be** your happiness, I cannot risk that and possibly lose the best mate a man could ever hope for. You were always the one who made me happy, just by being part of my life – and I will always be glad that we have some kind of love for each other. Oh, that it could be so much more.’_

The young man, now in his mid-twenties, hastily wrote his best mate’s name at the top of the parchment then signed his name below the “I love you” at the bottom of the page. He cleaned and dried his quill, then spread the letter on the desk to dry. His intent was to let the ink dry completely before stowing the letter away with all the others he had written over the past several years since leaving Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He stripped off his bathrobe and climbed naked into bed…naked and alone in his large bed, in his little house, in the quiet Sussex countryside.

He lay in bed wondering when he would get over the strong romantic and sexual feelings he had been harbouring for years towards his best friend. He wondered, again, if he should speak to someone — someone as in a professional capacity — about how to resolve those feelings. Or should he just tell him? He fell into yet another fitful sleep. Sleep was something else that eluded him over the past few years. His secret love was one contributor, but the War Years were the main culprit. That was one thing he could, and did, share with his remaining friends and colleagues. The war with Voldemort, and the ensuing skirmishes with Death Eaters had taken a toll on them all…and they all commented on how a decent night’s sleep seemed to be a long lost memory.

 

~*~*~

 

In a nice flat in a nice section of Manchester, another twenty-something wizard sat at his kitchen table with a nice piece of Albanian parchment spread before him. A large mug of lavender-chamomile tea sat steaming off to his left…the aroma did as much to calm his nerves as the tea itself did. He picked up his quill, dipped it into the inkpot, and began to write, _‘You were always the one who helped me believe in myself. I know I can never repay you for that, and that you don’t expect it. You were always the one who could just as easily make me laugh as you could make me face my fears. You were always the one I secretly loved, and was too afraid to tell. Of all the adventures we’ve been through over the years, I privately wish we could add just one more. Although most people wouldn’t consider a life of domesticity to be an adventure, I do when I dream about it with you. I’ve always been too afraid to tell you, that maybe you wouldn’t understand…or worse, wouldn’t feel the same. I’m content to have your friendship because then, at least, I get to keep you in my life. That’s why I write these letters, in the middle of the night, knowing you won’t ever get them and they help ease my aching heart some.’_

The young man set down his quill and wrapped his sore hands around the mug that held a warming charm. The heat helped dispel the pain from the joints of his fingers. The healers had done their best, but the dark magic, which inflicted those wounds, was powerful, and the healers explained that sometimes he would experience pain especially with cold or wet weather. He sipped some of the tea, and felt some of his tension ease. He sat alone in his kitchen, writing by candlelight, as the cold rain continued to pelt the window for the fifth night in a row. He reread the letter, set down the mug, and flexed his fingers before picking up his quill again. At the end of his heartfelt story, he added his best mate’s name, followed by the line “With all my love, always,” and then his own name. He drank down the rest of his tea, placed the candlestick on the edge of the parchment, and blew out the candle.

He planned to be up early the following morning, he was always up early every morning since the wars, and he would put the letter in the box with the rest he had written. He made his way back to his bedroom in the darkened flat, slipped off his pyjama pants, and climbed into bed. The cool cotton of the sheets felt good against his naked skin, and the soft weight of the quilts was always a comforting feeling. He turned onto his side and hugged the extra pillow, the one that always lay longwise beside him at night so he could dream he was snuggling his secret love to sleep.

 

~*~*~

 

A house-elf appeared in Harry Potter’s kitchen the next morning, the same as every other morning. Since Voldemort’s defeat, house-elves were no longer slaves, but they were extremely gifted at household skills and they quickly cornered the market on domestic services – much as goblins had done with banking centuries before. He set about the usual duties of dusting, laundry, washing dishes, summoning groceries and making the bed. Just before vanishing, he noticed a parchment on a table. He thought his employer must have forgotten to send it out with the Owl Post and promptly spelled the parchment away to the man to whom it was written.

 

~*~*~

 

A middle-aged squib woman let herself in through Ron Weasley’s door with her key. She came by three times a week to clean for him and had taken it upon herself to put together a plate of dinner for him. She usually left the dinner in the cold cabinet so he could later perform a heating charm and, at least, have a decent meal most nights. She had lost all three of her sons to the war, so she was glad to have someone to mother. She knew that her employer’s own mother did a fine job, still she felt bad for the young man who was on his own... alone, and seemingly so sad. She had finished her tidying up and was about to leave when she saw the letter. She picked it up, put it in her bag, and dropped it off at the nearest Owl Post.

 

~*~*~

 

Harry Potter stepped out of the hearth and dusted himself off in the front room of his country cottage. He noticed that Domo had changed the slipcovers and curtains to a more suitable springtime motif. The pillows were fluffed and the windows were open letting a slight breeze waft through the house. The house-elf had even placed a vase of early flowers on a side table. Harry let a small smile form as he took off his Ministry robe and hung it on a peg by the door. That was why he’d decided to hire from the house-elf agency; the little touches made his place feel a little less lonely. Harry then went to his bedroom to change into his at-home clothes…loose, comfy sweatpants and tee shirt…when he noticed the empty desktop.

Harry dashed into his kitchen just as a post owl landed on the sill and chirruped at him. He exchanged an owl treat for the scroll the bird proffered. He unrolled the parchment and read it boggle-eyed…just as he heard the unmistakable sound of someone Apparating into his front room.

Harry skidded into his lounge, his sock-clad feet sliding on the waxed wood floor. The sight that he met both thrilled and chilled him. Standing before him was his best mate Ron Weasley, his ginger hair looking wind-blown, his blue eyes wild and his arms flailing like a windmill…one hand clutching a piece of parchment. Ron advanced on Harry and nearly shouted, “Is this true?!”

At the same time Harry asked Ron, “Do you mean this?!” as he waved another parchment. The two stood looking at each other as their minds rewound the last minute and replayed it.

They answered simultaneously, “Yes.” The two men stood staring at each other as their minds rewound the last minute and replayed it again.

Ron advanced on Harry again, and Harry took a step back trying to focus…only to be stopped abruptly by the wall behind him. An odd look crossed Ron’s face as he continued towards Harry then reached out, grasped his shoulders, pulled him away from the wall and onto his lips. Harry’s bright green eyes were wide behind his glasses and his lips parted in surprise. Ron’s lips were hot and insistent against Harry’s, and Ron took Harry’s reaction as an invitation. Ron’s tongue slipped into Harry’s open mouth. Ron’s probing teased Harry’s tongue to react and join in as Harry wrapped his arms around his best mate and pulled him closer. Ron threaded his large hands and long fingers through Harry’s thick black hair. Harry let one of his hands travel up to the back of Ron’s neck as his other travelled down to Ron’s arse before both hands applied pressure trying to bring Ron even closer still.

The two men stood holding each other tightly, their lips prodding and their tongues exploring. Harry finally dropped the parchment he had been holding and his hands moved up to Ron’s shoulders to exert a small backwards pressure. Reluctantly Ron relinquished as the need for air registered in his brain, yet his hands clutched at Harry’s heaving shoulders.

Ron sighed, “Hermione was right.”

At the same time Harry sighed, “Ginny was right.”

“What?” they asked together. Gradually, realisation dawned in both sets of eyes. Harry’s green eyes sparkled and dilated. Ron’s blue eyes deepened and his eyelids drooped. They stood looking into each others eyes and slowly nodded.

Ron let his hands slip from Harry’s broad shoulders, down over his firm biceps where he gave a gentle squeeze, down further dusting the raised dark hairs of Harry’s forearms and slender wrists then over his strong hands. Ron took Harry’s hands tightly in his own and started walking backwards, pulling Harry with him.

“I think I can explain this better in your bedroom, Harry. I just have one question, first.”

“And that is?” Harry replied. The first genuine smile in a long time bloomed across his face.

Ron smiled and asked, “How the hell can you look so sexy in sweatpants?” Ron then turned, still holding Harry’s hand, laughed, and ran off to the bedroom pulling an equally happy and equally eager Harry along beside him.


End file.
